Celtic Hero
by Templa Otmena
Summary: Set some years after Badon Hill. Arthur makes a journey on what would be an anniversary of Lancelot, Tristan and Dagonet's deaths.


**Disclaimer- **The characters, plot and places of _King Arthur _are property of time but the inspiration, of course :) is thanks to that wonderful film by _Touchstone Pictures_.

**Author's Note- **Just a short ficlet from Arthur's perspective on what would be an anniversary of Lancelot, Tristan and Dagonet's deaths. ENJOY!

CELTIC HERO

By Templa Otmena

It was a lot darker now than it had been. When Arthur had set out at a gallop it had been full light with no sign of the approaching dusk, no shadow overtaking the glorious day and the king could only wonder where this time had gone.

His stallion cantered through the lush open meadows, bursting with grass of the ripest green. It was spring again and the landscape and its inhabitants relished in its rejuvenation but it would not last long. In a matter of weeks the telltale signs of a frosty wake would begin to appear. The days would become shorter, the nights darker and every creature colder as winter would reclaim its icy grasp and throw an impenetrable blanket of snow over all whom dwelt in this land. But for a time there was warmth and colour and Arthur had learnt to treasure such gifts for their transience. The trees were blossoming and full; yews, beeches, ashes and oaks not yet ancient or even in their prime would block the king's path as the stallion veered through a small forest and he would hastily admire them as they glided past.

This land had a way of getting under a person's skin. The magic and mysticism seemed to rise from the ground and capture the most hardy of heart, hold them and teach them in its ways. Arthur from time to time would wonder if it were not his advancing age that made him more vulnerable and susceptible to such notions. With a grin he would sometimes accept this and laugh at himself but on occasion, in the face of such raw natural power he would always bow his head to something greater than he.

This land had accepted him as it's own… _his_ land. A time ago he might have been arrogant enough to claim it as such but long and hard lessons had educated the man and he knew that no true ownership could be placed upon a being who was greater and stronger than one man could ever aspire to be. The land would remain and in its constancy it would keep their secrets and guard its own as everything else changed.

But this _was_ his land and it thrilled Arthur to finally name it as such. He believed and lived it now with every part of his soul. He belonged here wholly and was silently accepted.

Returning from the sojourn that his mind had taken Arthur refocused on his surroundings as only a warrior could. He so easily drifted into revere with only his faithful stallion to guide him more often than not in these past years. He always seemed to lose himself when free amongst the winds and the fields and when he would return to himself the ache of the days that were long gone when he would be goaded for such rare indulgences stung the man. To discreetly look over his shoulder and silently pride himself in the company that he kept was no longer a luxury as it had ceased to be for so long a time.

_Nay, _he thought. He had pride now in those that called him king. His soldiers, his army, his people. They were a force to be reckoned with and he was proud of them and who they had and would become. Their stamina and dreams would aid them in spite of what the future may yet bring.

Arthur was not a superstitious man, nor was he prone to groundless worry over unforeseeable fears. But he was a sensible man and there were none like him. Long had their peace been and the king had and continued to cherish every moment of it for he knew that it could not last forever. A lifetime, maybe two… a hundred years. Tomorrow. There was no telling.

The Romans in all their might had come and they had conquered. Metal had knocked against metal and the incessant constancy of it had intimidated the courageous and eliminated the brave. And when they had left that same martial clanking that had so frightened their ancestors had sounded like music of the gods to those left behind as the armies had finally left the country, never to return.

But it was not over. They had not beaten the Romans, they had deterred the Saxons and Arthur knew that that would not be the end of it. They would come again and the fight that his people would offer prided the aging king and inspired him when he might have lost faith. He had to believe that there could be a victory and that they would live on against an unavoidable onslaught.

But it was not to be this day. Not this night. And as was his wont Arthur fervently appreciated whatever respite this might be and enjoyed the evening for what it was.

Taking a deep and calming breath the king once again focused on his surroundings that had, again, become lost to him. He smiled as his memory retraced conversations and banters that had heckled him years ago.

_''E's 'avin 'Improper Thoughts', is our Roman Commander…'_

_'Now, now Bors… leave him to the pursuits of his fancy if that is all that he can engage in. You and I both have real and willing fancies in which we might engage in once we return…' _

He would have rolled his eyes, laughed, pretend to be affronted and received laughs in return. It had made it all worth it and he knew that his knights cherished such memories as much as he did.

They had joined him not of their own choosing but of their own will, however reluctant and they had all become comrades, confidants, friends. He could still recall those early days, weeks and months that had strangely not been as difficult as he had been prepared for. There had been humour and laughter and in the end that had saved them all.

A bubbling stream swirled beneath the mount's hooves as they both made their way through the small rapids. The encompassing moonlight washed over leagues of land with not a building, settlement or road obstructing it's path. The luminous shards danced within the depths of the disturbed water making it sparkle and glow with what might have been all the magic of the Upperworld. Before Arthur could once again lose himself in his musings he could not help but laugh at himself, again. As his stallion spurred him on, up and over the shallow bank that rational and cynical part of his being wondered at himself and who he had become. He smiled. _Nay_, he thought, whilst _he _did not question it he knew who would, and who did, and who it was he was now laughing with.

Lancelot. A dearer friend and comrade there had never been. He had always offered advice and support, been there and ready to lighten any mood that needed lifting with his… _questionable _humour and despite his reliability he had always been unpredictable, a mystery.

To this day Arthur had nothing but fond memories of the man he had called brother. His courage and bravery to those who knew the legend counted him a hero alongside the knights Tristan and Dagonet and before them many others'. But to those who _really _knew him, who had called him friend, it was his very presence that was a source of pleasant recollection without bitterness.

Lancelot had made his choice, as had Tristan and Dagonet. They had run before the face of death, unblinking, never wavering and it was that blind dedication and unparalleled strength that comforted those left behind. Unlike others' of their company who had been taken from them in battle, war and grief that had not been of their making, those last three had had the honour of making a choice of their own volition and none could truly grieve them knowing that.

And as it did almost every year, Arthur's wanderings brought him to the coast and the vast stretch of never ending sea. The stallion ceased its unrelenting gait a mere foot from the steep and treacherous drop and as he did Arthur gracefully dropped from the saddle.

It had been so many years since the passing of his friends in that last skirmish, and even more when marking the deaths of those gone before them. But there was always something so poignant about this day.

Their deaths and sacrifice had marked a new Age for the people of this land. Now there was union and direction where before there had been only chaos and violence.

Arthur had become king and Guinevere his queen. Galahad, Bors and Gawain had each followed their own paths, be it returning home or remaining amongst those whom they had fought beside. It had been with the demise of a few that the rebirth of so many had been secured.

With that gift their memory and their deeds would live on in history and legend and perhaps one day in myth. They might cease to be people and become merely names, but it was what those words would inspire when uttered that would truly matter. And like the thunderous waves of the expanse of ocean that lay before him, Arthur knew that there could truly be no end for any of them.

I hope that that was not too… Celtic :) I love anything and everything related to the period both historically and mythically. I could not help but slip in a few customs and ideas here and there relating to the beliefs held in the Dark Ages. And I like to think that the Arthur of the film might have adapted to and adopted some of those beliefs as he took up his kingship amongst the natives of the land.

For reference I drew heavily from texts by the amazing Professor Brian Bates whose works should be read by all ;)


End file.
